


Vintage

by Repeatinglitanies



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don’t copy to another site, Dubious Consent, F/M, Moral Ambiguity, Non Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Repeatinglitanies/pseuds/Repeatinglitanies
Summary: Truth be told, Quentin Oleander attended the Handler’s party more out of sheer boredom than any actual craving for her newly discovered vintage. Everyone who was anyone knew that it was simply her way of gaining enough votes for a seat at the Council and displacing the current Head, Carmichael.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79





	Vintage

Truth be told, Quentin Oleander attended the Handler’s _wine-tasting_ party more out of sheer boredom than any actual craving for her newly discovered vintage. Everyone who was anyone knew that it was simply her way of gaining enough votes for a seat at the Council and displacing the current Head, Carmichael.

The moon was especially bright and full this night, which was a bit of a surprise to Quentin considering that the city lights (as they were wont to do at this day and age) had the tendency to obscure the night sky, moon and stars and all that. Besides, unless it was to observe the pull of earth’s natural satellite on the tides or to observe the movements of celestial bodies with a telescope, Quentin had never bothered looking up. Not since he lost the only thing that ever truly mattered to him.

_Fuck. ___

__His old age has made him far too sentimental. And it was certainly the most inappropriate place and time to do it._ _

__After all, he was walking among a swarm of mosquitoes and ticks he would have swatted and crushed without a second thought had it not been for established rules that promised swift and brutal retribution for anyone who broke them. Had he been younger, Quentin would have stomped on all those rules and challenged the Council’s authority over him. But growing older tended to give one a change of perspective. All that mattered now was knowledge. One that he could only gain with the passing of time._ _

__Unfortunately, being the smartest person in the room tended to get boring really quickly. So he was sure that he’d be spending some time in a corner alone in the next few minutes._ _

__Well, no matter, the night was young. Hopefully, the mixture of available beverages in the Handler’s cellar would be enough to free inhibitions to treat him to a firsthand view of a bloodbath._ _

__Some days, that seemed to be the only thing to draw out any form of _excitement_ out of him._ _

__As usual, his entrance never failed to produce the necessary amount of fear, loathing and respect as was his due as one of the Eldest. Quentin might have long given up the Council seat his Father (who always insisted to be called his Maker because of the old man’s inflated sense of ego) expected, even pushed him to attain. But that didn’t mean he was without power. Everyone here knew that._ _

__“My dear, Quentin! A pleasure to see you’ve accepted my invitation. I was wondering if I had to visit your current _accommodations_ myself.”_ _

__The Handler never did like his new home, which was basically the basement of a derelict building that passed for low-income housing apartments. True, he owned cleaner, much more luxurious homes, homes that better declared his power and standing, complete with state of the art security systems to keep trespassers away during his unavoidable hours of sleep._ _

__But frankly, keeping the Handler away was part of the old, near crumbling building’s appeal. That, as well as how all his necessities were pretty much a walking distance away. No need to rely on unreliable, backstabbing servants to fetch his evening’s meal for him. It was simply time-consuming having to deal with people. In Quentin’s case, keeping incompetent and/or traitorous servants alive was just too much work. And cleaning up after he painted his silk curtains and the neighbouring Caravaggio’s and his only Van Gogh with their blood was even worse. So his current arrangements were honestly preferable._ _

__It freed him to focus on the eternal quest for knowledge that had been the only thing that kept him going for all these lonely years._ _

__Besides, his underground lair was off-limits to everyone else. Giving him solitude in his well-furnished corner of the earth._ _

__Quentin managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the Handler’s obvious pandering. He had already set his mind to denying her a seat at the Council. But as a matter of decorum and the sacred rules of guest rites, Quentin was obliged to hear her out before partaking of the only thing that he really wanted from the woman, her fine collection of wine and the likely promise of high octane drama that often seemed to follow such gatherings._ _

__She indicated for him to follow her to a long, dark hallway away from the revelries. As a guest, decorum indicated for him to follow her._ _

__“I know what you’re thinking, Quentin. Here she goes again. Wasting your time. Talk, talk, talking your ears off when you’ve already made up your mind not to give me your vote. But please, allow me to persuade you to do otherwise. You know that I have the best vintage in the city. My reputation for it has already earned me half the votes I need.”_ _

__Quentin wasn’t surprised. This new age of technology made everyone want to do less work for more rewards. And it showed, even among their peers._ _

__When once they had to work to survive, now old _friends_ (and by friends, he meant one time allies that could quickly turn into enemies) expected things to be handed to them on a silver platter. Or in this case, a crystalline glass._ _

__But if the Handler thought their colleagues and peers’ overall laziness and gluttony would also apply to himself, she was sadly mistaken. Not even an endless supply of her vintage was worth selling his vote. Not that he cared about Carmichael’s political stance either. He just didn’t like being told what to do. As far as he was concerned, she and Carmichael could declare open warfare for all Quentin cared as long as he was left out of it._ _

__He was about to open his mouth to tell her so and then promptly help himself to a bottle of wine when she opened a door and saw who waited for them there._ _

__In their world, a vintage had more value the newer it was. Fresh was best was a common saying among his kind. And the Handler collected the _materials_ from faux blood drives that promised the young, relatively healthy and very poor monetary compensation in exchange for blood._ _

__Of course, it never ends well for the poor, desperate humans who decide to sell to the Handler’s visibly shady institution instead of donating to a more humanitarian organisation._ _

__One moment, the humans are handed a thick wad of cash to distract them long enough to be injected with a sedative. The next moment they find themselves in one of the Handler’s wine-tasting parties. Or, alternatively, to one of her lazy sacks-of-flesh of clients who have forgotten that being a vampire meant sourcing your own food instead of relying on another to provide it for you._ _

__For all the wonders of the Industrial Revolution, Quentin certainly did not appreciate how it affected his own kind. At least he had the forethought of feeding on his tenants and keeping them alive to be able to feed on them again._ _

__The Handler encouraged wasting food, drinking the vintage up in one go in order for her clients to return to her again. It was certainly a brilliant power move that impressed even him._ _

__But looking at the vintage being offered to him, Quentin was far from amused._ _

__In a matter of seconds, all thoughts of guest rites and the forthcoming retribution for murdering one’s host were forgotten. He had the Handler by the throat and pinned to the wall, her legs dangling and unable to touch the floor. Quentin was older and far stronger after all. He had half a mind to sever the Handler’s head from her body and be done with it._ _

__How dare she try to manipulate him like this? To conjure up this image, this memory in a blatant attempt to garner his support._ _

__A choked sob of horror stopped him. And in a beat of another moment, Quentin released the Handler, who dropped unceremoniously on the white marble floor._ _

__“Leave us. If I sense anyone listening in, no one will live to see the next night.”_ _

__The Handler was visibly shaken. So much so that she couldn’t muster the strength to stand up. Instead, she was on all fours as she let herself out of the room._ _

__Quentin wasted no time slamming the door after her._ _

__The girl was a vision in white. Young but not too young. Perhaps in her mid to late twenties? Compared to his age, they were all young girls._ _

__And she looked exactly like Dolores. Sounded like her too._ _

__He had no doubt she would have been cowering in a corner had she the strength to stand up from the bed that almost swallowed her tiny frame._ _

__The fear radiated from her in waves._ _

__Quentin walked towards her in a slow gait meant to reassure her that he didn’t mean any harm, at least not on her. But it was pointless. The girl was taken against her will. And with that scanty clothing leaving little to the imagination, she had no illusions on what she was there for._ _

__To a point, she wasn’t far off. She might not know her main use was that of sustenance. But to his kind, especially the old ones that make up the Handler’s extensive clientele, food and playthings were almost indistinguishable._ _

__“Look, you’re a handsome man. I’m sure you could have a lot of girls. I’m no one and I’m not even that pretty. Please, let me go. I promise I won’t breathe a word about this.”_ _

__His non-beating heart broke at the plaintive, desperate tone of her voice. Quentin was impressed she could even manage to speak in his presence considering what he’d shown her so far. Most people would have already pissed and shat themselves._ _

__A part of him wondered if he was simply dreaming up this feeling that was the closest he remembered to living. Perhaps he was back in his lair as the sun was high in the sky. And when he finally touched her, he would wake up._ _

__“What’s your name?”_ _

__He was out of practice. But Quentin thought he managed to convey a gentle tone. And immediately, he knew that he had made the greatest mistake of his undead life._ _

__“V-Vanya.”_ _

___Fuck_ _ _

__Now she wasn’t simply a thing to him. How could he forget that knowing another’s name could change everything? Make the living food more of a person than an actual meal. This was why he never bothered to have his tenants fill in paperwork. They needed a place to live and he needed food. It was a straightforward arrangement. One that his tenants didn’t know about. But it was arguably better than living in the streets._ _

__So now the girl, who was definitely no girl judging by what her dress (for the lack of a better word) failed to conceal, was named Vanya. Not Dolores. He can’t even convincingly pretend that Vanya would be his Dolores-replacement. Already, he could see how very unlike Dolores this girl was._ _

__Strangely enough, he wasn’t disappointed. And his observation did nothing to stop the growing desire within him._ _

__It was almost amusing how the years he spent abstaining from **that** form of physical contact had almost made this feel brand new. Sex had been fun the first few centuries, even as one that had joined the ranks of the undead. But even that had lost its appeal after he had glut himself on it one too many times. At least it did until now._ _

__The only thing stopping him from spreading Vanya’s pale, slender legs as far as it could go and taking her then and there was her fear._ _

__Even though humans had long been nothing more than food to him, it was her fear that kept him from taking what he wanted._ _

__Which didn’t make their situation any easier._ _

__The Handler made a gamble and won as soon as Quentin saw Vanya. The moment he laid eyes on her, he knew he couldn’t leave her here to be given to another, drained and disposed like garbage. But if he gave even a hint that he saw Vanya as more than an amalgamation of plaything and food, the Handler will be sure to use Vanya to get him to do whatever she wanted, much more than the price she’d extract for a transfer of ownership._ _

__It would have been far easier had Quentin simply seen her as nothing more than a tool to make him feel alive again._ _

__Council rules were very clear on the state of Vanya’s ownership. As far as it was concerned, she belonged to the Handler unless the bitch gifted Vanya to him. And there was only one way she’d ever do that._ _

__But to demand ownership, without a _sampling_ would raise all sorts of suspicions. And the Handler was no fool. She would press her luck and demand two favours, maybe even an unlimited number of favours before giving him what he wanted. Quentin would have no choice but to comply if he wanted Vanya with him without a host of vampires out for his head. If he took Vanya now without the Handler’s consent, he and Vanya would be dead. _ _

__As far as vampire law was concerned, he would be the thief and the Handler would be the wronged party. And while stealing wouldn’t warrant death, it would warrant all sorts of eyes on Vanya._ _

__So there was really only one logical way out of this situation._ _

__He reached out to touch her hand. Quentin could tell she was simply forcing herself not to shy away from her understandable fear and his touch, knowing how cold he was, as all vampires were._ _

__Time was of the essence. The longer it passed, the more questions would appear and crystallize in the Handler’s mind._ _

__“Vanya, look at me. Look. At. Me. Now.”_ _

__No one refused him when he used that tone. Not even this woman who was trying her best to be brave in front of what her subconscious knew to be a monster._ _

__“Lie down and spread your legs. Close your eyes. And just feel. Banish your fears. And just feel me. When I make you come with my cock, you’ll go to sleep immediately. Do you understand?”_ _

__Eyes that filled with confusion instantly went glassy. And after a brief nod of the head, she promptly obeyed._ _

__He liked how she looked down there. But her hair was getting in the way. When he got her home, he would shave her. He wanted better access to the parts the hair was concealing._ _

__Not that fine hairs were any deterrent to him as he used his fingers to spread her and take an experimental lick. Her responding gasp was both a warning and a titillation. Everything about him was cold to the touch. And licking her there must have been akin to briefly placing a sensitive part of her body in contact with ice._ _

__“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget myself. This might sting a bit. But I promise, it will make things better for you.”_ _

__With that, Quentin found his way to her femoral artery. Sensing the pulsing on the inside of her right thigh, he bit into it, drawing out blood._ _

__Vanya’s response was immediate. One bite and that space between her legs overflowed with wetness, one of the perks of being a vampire’s food was the orgasm a single bite can induce. True, one usually ended up dead. But the food usually enjoyed their last moments, blissfully unaware what was being done to them._ _

__That wasn’t Quentin’s only reason for the bite though. A bit of her blood would be enough to warm him to the touch. Unsurprisingly, she tasted just as he had imagined. Sweet and tart, with a bit of bitterness that was akin but not quite like his favourite brand of coffee._ _

__When he was sure he had enough, Quentin healed her worried thigh with a lick._ _

__He had been more than ready, could have entered her as soon as she spread her legs. But he didn’t want it to go that way. Strangely enough, it would have been easier if she was only a replacement for Dolores. Then he wouldn’t need to take her comfort into account._ _

__But Quentin was possessed by something. He wasn’t entirely sure of what. All he knew was that he would only take himself inside her when she stopped shivering at his touch. Something he tested by tearing off the ridiculous piece of cloth that covered her breasts and exploring it from the tops, the sides, to the pretty pink areolas._ _

__When, unbidden, Vanya encircled her arms around him, Quentin took it as a sign that she found him warm (at least welcoming enough) to the touch._ _

__He lifted a too slender leg (Quentin would make sure she ate more, going forward) around his waist before slowly guiding himself inside her._ _

___Fuck, she was tight!_ _ _

__Quentin had to keep himself from slamming into her. Keeping his pace slow and steady, making it a mission to keep her moans of pain to a minimum and turn it into something else entirely. To him, it was a torturous process trying to find that spot inside her that would ease her and make her crave his presence inside her._ _

__Good thing that Quentin had always been both persistent and a quick study. In no time at all, he found an angle that made her breath quicken and her heart pound faster, which he took as a signal for a faster pace and deeper strokes. It was quite a sight to see her breasts moving in time with the push and pull that connected his body to hers and quite a thing to hear her scream her pleasure as her walls clamped down on him, which only signalled his own release._ _

__As per his compulsion, Vanya fell asleep soon after. It fell to him to clean up the mess he made between her legs. He didn’t want her to grow alarmed at the blood she found there. True, he did technically draw it from her body. But it was from his bite which resulted in his release‘s reddish coloring._ _

__It was illogical. But he didn’t want her to think the blood was from any internal injury caused by their coupling._ _

__Good thing he insisted on keeping a handkerchief like a civilised vampire unlike the ones born to this modern age. He won’t be washing that piece of cloth. Ever._ _

__He made his deal with the Handler as quickly as possible. The whole time thinking that nothing can ever make such a concession any less painful._ _

__Or at least, that was what he thought until he saw Vanya’s sleeping face as he took her in his arms and took her home._ _


End file.
